


Heavenly Peace

by Theblueeyedvampire



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Challenge Response, Christmas Smut, Episode: s07e11 Showtime, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Mistletoe, Season/Series 07
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 08:47:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13143129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theblueeyedvampire/pseuds/Theblueeyedvampire
Summary: It's Christmas, 2002, and Buffy realizes she needs to stop waiting around and tell Spike something.





	Heavenly Peace

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EllieRose101](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllieRose101/gifts).



> Response to the 2017 Holiday Challenge by OffYourBird on Elysian Fields. Thanks to EllieRose101 for the requested badgering.  
> Takes place after “Showtime”, although I fudged the timing a little bit, since “Showtime” originally aired on January 7, 2003. Pretend it happened about two weeks earlier, alright ducks? That would be… the night of Christmas Eve, 2002. Starts off pretty angsty but I promise it is mostly fluff (and smut).

Spike could barely believe that he wasn’t hallucinating. He was no longer a captive down in The First’s caves, being beaten and tormented by the Bringers and whatever those brutish, primal vampires were called. Turok Han, he thought he’d heard one of the girls say.

He was also no longer an occupant of the basement.

Buffy had brought him back from the horrible cave… straight to the warmth of her bedroom, curtains drawn tight to swathe the room in soft shadows. She’d cleaned his wounds, fed him a bag of blood, given him spare clothes – from the size of the flannel pajama pants, he suspected they had once belonged to the Watcher – and put him to bed. In _her_ bed. _With_ her. Though not “with” her in the sense that they’d always slept together before… the type in which very little sleep was involved.

No. Tonight was about comfort. About trust. About… he didn’t dare think _love_ , but that was what it felt like to have Buffy’s small, warm, strong arms gently braced across his bare chest as if to make absolutely sure he would be there when she woke up.

_“I’m not ready for you to not be here.”_

He kept half-waking up, sore eyes streaming tears, and clutching her a little tighter.

When he actually awoke sometime in the morning, her golden head rested on his chest, her shoulder tucked up between his arm and his side. She was awake, fingers tracing the runes that the Bringers had carved into his chest when they’d first captured him and bled him over the Hellmouth.

“Don’t think they’ll scar,” he whispered, and Buffy gasped softly, apparently unaware until that moment that he’d woken. “Sorry, luv. Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“No, I… I should have been able to tell.” She pressed her palm flat to his chest, scooting up slightly so her forehead could rest against his throat, his head propped up by her pillow. “You breathe when you sleep. You breathe most of the time… except right when you wake up.”

Neither of them had any doubt as to why.

_“Isn’t this usually the part where you kick me in the head and run out, virtue fluttering?”_

 “We… we didn’t talk much last night,” he said, lifting a hand to cautiously brush his fingers across her hair.

She didn’t flee. If anything, she nuzzled closer.

“You were hurt.” Her hand skimmed lower, resting gently atop bruised ribs, his skin stained purple, even though the blood he’d consumed last night was beginning to work its healing magic. “You needed to rest.”

He thought she sounded a bit hoarse. Had she cried over him?

“Could’ve rested downstairs,” he shrugged, wincing as the motion pulled at strained muscles in his shoulders.

At that, Buffy sat up straight, staring down at him with her luminous green eyes wide and vulnerable.

“You… you don’t want to be here?”

“I d-do, pet, you misunderstand!” he stammered. “Jus’… didn’t expect… never imagined…”

“That I’d let you?” she filled in the end of the sentence before he could finish stumbling over his words. “After… what happened last year, after everything…” She smiled shyly, cheeks warming in a blush that surprised him. “Well… here you are. In my bed.”

“It’s even softer than I dreamed it’d be.”

“You dreamed about being here?”

He nodded. “Cripes, been dreamin’ about it for years, luv.”

Cheeks still rosy-tinged, Buffy lay back down, her head on his shoulder, arms winding around his middle as though she never wanted to let go of him.

“What happens in your dreams, Spike?” Her warm breath tickled his ear.

Images flashed through his brain, and what remained of the blood in his body surged downward. He cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Buffy, I… I think you know what happens in my dreams. Jus’ never liked me sayin’ it before.”

“Saying… that you love me?”

_Am I that transparent? Apparently so._

“Yeah. That’s it in a nutshell. In my dreams… I love you… and you love me back.” _And we make love until neither of us can move anymore_.

For a moment, Buffy lay perfectly still except for the hand that had returned to trace his chest wounds.

“I realized something when you were taken,” she whispered, breath seeping into his skin like healing balm. “I didn’t _just_ miss you. I felt like there was a hole in my heart, that fear that I’d be too late… to tell you… that I love you, too.”

His mouth flopped open like there was a loose spring in his jaw.

_She… is it possible? Maybe I’m hearin’ things. Can’t be The First, ‘cause she’s touchin’ me all over. Am I dead, sent to heaven by mistake?_

“Say something,” Buffy whispered, ducking her flushing face against his bare shoulder. “Am I… am I too late?”

“What? Too late for what, Buffy?” He was absolutely bewildered.

“For… you.”

“For me to what?”

“God, are you being thick on purpose?” She sat up, looking like she was on the verge of tears again. “Do you still love me, Spike?”

“Bloody hell, of course I love you! How could you doubt that for even a _second_ , luv?”

“Well, you haven’t _said_ it—”

He reached up – though his shoulders screamed at the motion – cupped her face in both of his hands, and drew her down for the sweetest, most intimate kiss his battered lips were capable of. She moaned in response, winding one arm around his neck, sliding her body over so she lay atop him. Her hot tongue pressed between his lips, and he welcomed it. He could drown in her glorious warmth, his body reacting eagerly, cock swelling against the flannel pajama pants.

“I love you,” he groaned when their lips parted, Buffy needing to gasp a breath before kissing him again. “I love you. I love you, Slayer. I love you. Love you so much.”

“I could’ve lost you…”

“But you didn’t.” He thumbed one stray tear from her cheek. “Didn’t lose me, body or heart. Soul’s yours, too.”

“Your soul…” She rested her hand over his heart, where not too long ago his flesh had been riddled with self-inflicted scars… and then her eyes sprung back to his, suddenly filled with horror. “Spike… if we… if we make love…” She swallowed as though the words were foreign and she worried she had mispronounced them. “What will happen to your soul?”

Spike shook his head, pressing his hand over hers, against his chest.

“Mine doesn’t work like that, luv. Can’t make it come unstuck. No curse, no conditions. Just me.”

Buffy exhaled a shaky sigh of relief, eyes a little teary but lips smiling at him.

“Oh, good. Otherwise, it would have been a big waste of this mistletoe.”

“What?”

He looked up, and sure enough, she had tied a sprig of mistletoe above the headboard. So… she’d been hoping all along that things would lead to where they were.

“I thought it was festive,” she shrugged. “Being Christmas, and all.”

“Christmas, is it?” He’d been in the First’s clutches longer than he’d realized. Tenderly, he pulled her back down to him for another deep kiss. “Merry Christmas, Slayer. Let me make love to you. Please.”

“Uh-huh.” She nodded, pressing kisses from his nose to his chin with the motion. “So long as we’re quiet. The house is full of teenagers.”

“I can be quiet,” he assured her. He _could_ be, just preferred not to.

With a swift nod, she kissed him, hot little hands reaching down to tug the flannel pants down off his hips so he could kick them aside. She sat up again, straddling his waist this time, and guided his hands up her torso, bringing the fabric of her camisole top up and up and up until it sailed over her head. His hands caught her breasts, and her breath hitched with a shaky moan while she struggled to shuck off her pj shorts and underwear. Naked now, she gripped his shoulders, rocking her hips back and forth against him, soaking him with her desire.

“I’m not hurting you, am I?” She glanced in concern at his bruised ribs.

“Not a bit, luv.” He arched up, hips squirming in desperation to be inside her. “Buffy. Need you, baby, please.”

“I need you too, Spike. I love you.”

“I love y—oh!”

Her hand had slipped between their bodies, gripped his cock, and lined him up before he even managed to finish getting the words out. She sank down slowly, throwing her head back, arching her chest into his hands.

“Buffy…” he groaned at the feel of her heat surrounding him, scorching, squeezing when she’d taken him inside fully. “Oh, god, I’ve missed you. Like molten gold, you are, pet. Burnin’ me up. I love you!”

“Oh, Spike!”

So much for staying quiet. His hands slid around her body to her hips, squeezing her hot flesh in time with his thrusts. She couldn’t stay sitting upright on him, already shaking with her first orgasm of the night.

“Spike!”

Falling forward, Buffy muffled her moans into his throat, clutching his hair in one hand and a fist-full of the sheets in the other. His stomach tightened, legs beginning to spasm as her pussy clamped down on him, her muscles pulsing until he couldn’t take it any longer. His hips jolted up from the mattress, fingers tightly gripping her ass as the rhythm of his thrusts stuttered and he emptied himself deep inside her quaking channel.

He collapsed, limp as a wet dishrag, panting for breath. Buffy lay atop him, equally winded, her skin glazed over with the slightest sheen of sweat.

“Thought I would last longer,” he said a bit sheepishly. “Guess it’s been a while. Least we didn’t make too much noise. Don’t think anyone else is awake.”

“It was perfect.” She lifted a hand to playfully muss his bleached curls. “Let’s go back to sleep. We can have round two when we wake up.”

Stretching just slightly, she pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, and he turned his head to be within reach, slotting his lips against hers.

“I love you, Spike.”

“Love you, Buffy.”

“Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, luv.”

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Thanks for reading this totally self-indulgent little story. Hope you all have wonderful holidays and a happy new year!


End file.
